Raison D’être
by Majokai Yukiko
Summary: A soul can be a beautiful thing, may it be a trap or a dream. DorianTom slash.
1. Author's Notes

Author's Note:   
  
Horrors of horrors! I have been hunted down by the FFNet search dog...they took my R fics off the main archive!! Damn...*sobs* well, you guys can still get to access it over on the author's profile page, or if you especially go search for it, you can still find it..but that is if you do...*whimpers*  
  
Go read my other LXG fics...I spent time on those and I hate it when it's not appreciated...esp now that it had been torn off the freaking archive!  
  
I'm not sure if they will put me back on the mai n archive after I make myself to be a good girl and lower and rating with this BIG FAT warning in front...still trying anyway...  
  
So, there are sex scenes in this story...in my opinion, not very explicit but unfortunately, my opinion doesn't exactly count...*grumbles* If you can't stand Male/Male slash sex scenes, then get out of the way...if FFNet still refused to put me back up, then I'll say, go check out my fics on my own webpage. The url can be found on my author's profile. Go on, you know you want to... 


	2. Chapter 1

**Raison D'être | Chapter 1**

**A League of Extraordinary Gentleman Fanfiction**

**Pairing: Dorian + Tom**

**Warning: Slash. Wicked dreams. **

**Timeline: Movie. **

**This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of Allan Moore, Kevin O'Neil, the movie producers and their associates. **

---

He always saw him as a father, a mentor. It was true, Tom Sawyer realized, what the others had said about him. He was a party crasher, not an asset to the league. He had waltzed into the game as if he had the right to, too willing to prove himself, too eager to impress. What happened? He had lost the man who had willingly taught him everything he knew. 

Tom Sawyer sat alone on the bed in his cabin, staring at the gun he had brought along with him from the States. He had left its twin at Alan Quatermain's grave. He had given it to the man, it was only right that a weapon follows a hunter to his death. 

Death. His fault. 

What had he contributed to the League other than mayhem and trouble? Others had to keep watching his back. Not even a woman like Mina Harker needed as much protection as he did. 

Rodney Skinner had been severely injured to save him. Alan died doing so. 

Tired of staying in his lonesome room, Tom got up from the couch and stalked out into the corridors. 

A few rooms down from his, Tom Sawyer thought he heard somebody cry. He paused. Perhaps it was another guilt-stricken soul like him? He wondered. He paused outside the cabin door, thinking about what to do, and then raised his hand into a fist to knock. 

"Come in," Mina replied. The American saw the vampire dabbing her eyes with a dainty hanky before turning around to meet him. He chose not to say anything. Sometimes, it was better to leave a woman alone. 

"Done with your unpacking?" He asked, deciding to go for the neutral approach and looked around the room. Finally, his attention was drawn to a framed canvas in Mina's hands. "What is that?" 

Hurt misted over the lady's eyes before she held out the painting to show him what it was. It was the portrait of Dorian Gray. 

The painting was very well done. If Tom had not known better, he would have sworn he saw the immortal himself staring at him in the face now, smirking like the asshole he was. Whoever the artist was, it must have been someone who knew Gray well enough to capture every curve and nuance of his handsome face. 

Mina had not said anything about her fight with Gray when they returned back to the Nautilus. Tom had assumed she managed to kill the man, immortal as he was, like she had wanted. So why hold on to his painting now that the double-crosser was dead?

As if reading his mind, she tried to explain. 

"This painting was the reason why Dorian betrayed us. M stole it from him." 

What? Tom wanted to yell. Betraying his ex-lover and an entire League, helping to bring about a world war, just for a stupid painting of himself?

Mina shook her head sadly. 

"I don't expect you to understand. I don't understand myself why I am still keeping this." She held up the painting with one hand, tracing across Gray's painted face with the other. "I want to keep looking at this, to have something to remember him by. But at the same time, I don't want to keep it." She sighed and turned to the boy with a sad smile. 

Tom frowned. "I can keep it for you if you want. I'll return it when you feel ready." The American took the painting from her and tucked it under his arm with a grin. He had to do something. Maybe if he could relieve Mina of her misery, he could add some value into his participation in the League. 

There was no League. His mind reminded. M was dead. 

Mina regarded him with a critical eye and petted the top of his head lightly, as if he was a child. Compared to her, he was a child. Tom realized. But he was not about to let his pride get in the way. 

"I'm not sure if I will ever be ready."

"Forever is a very long time to condemn yourself." Tom muttered. 

Mina nodded in agreement. 

***

Tom found a nail on the wall and decided to hang the painting up there. Much as it was a portrait of the man he detested, he had to admit that it was a beautiful painting. He might not be a connoisseur of art, but he could tell when something was extraordinary. 

He took a step back and examined the painting carefully. 

The Dorian Gray in the painting was so lifelike that Tom half expected the immortal to step out of the painting there and then, holding a sword in his hands. The agent grinned, scratched his nape lightly, silently chiding himself for being ridiculous. 

Tom yawned and tossed a glance at his wall clock. 

It was time for bed. 

***

He was in a beautiful place filled with shelves and shelves of books. The library was huge; tapestries decorated the walls with their colorful glamour, only if the wall was not taken up from a framed painting of two. 

Tom remembered this place. It was Dorian Gray's library. He met the members of the League for the first time here. But he also knew it was a dream. He looked around, suddenly aching for the familiar weight of his rifle in his hands. 

Could anyone die in dreams?

Something at the far end of the room caught his eyes. It was a wall. Unlike the others in the library, that particular wall was bare except for a painting hung with its right side facing the wall. 

Tom raised an eyebrow and made his way to that wall, wanting to put it back to its correct place when the tapping of a walking stick followed by a familiar drawl forced him to turn around. 

"Well, well, seems like you have found yourself at another private party, Sawyer."

Tom rolled his eyes. Of all people he could have meet in his dreams, why did it had to be Gray? Could it not be Mina? Then maybe it could work its way into some nicely scripted wet dream if it were she. Argh!

"There are no other guests here." Tom retorted. "Unless you invited Skinner and he decides to prance around naked in your library."

Dorian only smirked. "Have I accused you of being a gatecrasher this time?" The Englishman strutted to where he had his scotch and poured out two glasses. "Let me assure you that you are not, and that you are the only guest I intend on entertaining tonight."

"What's more, Skinner is not the one I want prancing naked in my library." Dorian added, gesturing to a couch in the middle of the room. "There, take a seat."

Tom Sawyer felt the hair on the back of his neck stood on their ends. The way Dorian had spoken, it was as if he was saying something and meaning something else all together. He took the glass Dorian was offering with shaking hands and dropped himself heavily on the couch, waiting for his strange dream to end. 

Dorian sat down on the chair opposite the agent and settled in comfortably. There was silence and there was silence. Neither man spoke. Tom was staring hard at the liquid in his glass, once in a while lifting his head up to see Dorian staring into space, seemingly looking at whatever that was behind him. 

"That was my portrait." Dorian suddenly said. He lowered his lids, watching the swirls in his glass contemplatively and then focused on the wall again. "I had it done when I was a young man. I don't grow old…but that portrait will. Year after year, older and uglier…it was my demon."

Tom did not know what to say about that. He figured that the portrait was important to Dorian, but how so that he panicked when it was stolen? Was he afraid that others would see how old and ugly he really was, despite what his immortality shows?

Narcissistic fool, Tom snorted in disgust. 

Suddenly, Dorian stood up urgently and stared out of the windows with a cold hard look in his eyes. Tom faced the windows too. But it appeared that the immortal saw something Tom could not see. It was weird, but it was a dream after all. Tom could not be more bothered about it. 

"Morning's coming." Dorian announced. He came around the coffee table and smiled at Tom. A truly grateful smile; it was an expression that Tom had never once seen on the European's face before. "Thank you for your time, Sawyer. Thank you for listening to me."

Tom nodded confusedly as his surroundings blurred into blackness. 

The first thing Tom Sawyer saw when he woke up was the portrait he had hung up the day before. He had not realized the wall he had hung it on was facing his bed directly. Oh well, Tom pushed himself upright and shrugged. Not like it mattered. 

As he was pulling on his boxers, the secret agent glanced at the painting again. "You're welcome," he mouthed. 

End of Chapter 1

Continue to Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 2

**Raison D'être | Chapter 2**

**A LXG Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko**

**Pairing: Dorian + Tom**

**Warning: Slash. Wicked Dreams.**

**Timeline: Post-movie cannon. **

---

"Hey, Skinner." Tom greeted the invisible man cheerily, taking his place beside him at the railing, looking out at the horizon where sky met sea. 

The Nautilus floated alone in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, very still in an immense stillness, the shadows of her spars flung far westward by the rising sun. There was no sound in her, and around them, nothing moved. Not a boat in the water, not a bird in the sky, not a cloud in the sky. In this moment of calmness, their existence stood out, with only the sky and the sea for judges and spectators. 

Tom Sawyer looked to his side. A bond had been forged between Rodney Skinner and himself after that previous incident with M. Skinner had saved his life, and with that, the man had earned for himself Tom's undying respect and gratitude. 

It was strange. Extraordinary gentlemen in extraordinary situations with extraordinary bonds, they had their taste of uniqueness, it was normalcy that had became a mystery to them. 

"Hey yourself, Tom." Skinner replied. It was impossible to see the expression on his face. Had he regretted this invisibility? Had he ever felt the loneliness of his existence, threatening to consume his sanity every waking moment?

"You think I can get a tan if I stay out here long enough? Nothing beats the tropical sun, does it?" Skinner asked. 

"I don't know, Skinner. But you can definitely try." The American boy replied. 

Tom rested his hands lightly on the ship's railings, as if on the shoulder of a trusted friend. When Jekyll lost a vial of his solution, they had automatically assumed it to be Skinner. The League had no idea if Skinner was good or evil. Perhaps nobody had any idea either. It was an age-old stereotype that had almost caused the League's fall: never trust anyone you could not see. 

Was it the same for Dorian Gray? Tom mused. It was unclear if the immortal was good or evil. But he was definitely feared among the League. They all had weaknesses, while Gray was virtually indestructible. As a result, he was being feared and doubted. 

That, by it, had always tended to bring up the worst in people. 

Did he feel lonely too?

"I'm going back in," Skinner announced. "Don't want to pull a chair out here to tan and end up having Hyde sitting on me because he can't see me."

Tom grinned. Skinner could always take things in his stride, seeing the humor out of any and every situation, good or bad. 

The American leaned back against the railing, closed his eyes, and smiled, enjoying the feel of the sun shining on his face. It felt good; to be truly relaxed in such troubled times. It almost made him believe that he could stay like this forever. 

Almost. 

***

He was back in the library again. This time, however, Gray was already waiting for him. Tom took his seat, and wondered briefly, what his dream would be about. 

"Good evening, Sawyer. You are early today." The European offered his guest a glass of scotch like he had done the night before and poured out red wine for himself. Tom accepted it politely, but did not drink it. 

"I did not poison it, Tom." The agent looked up with a chagrined smile on his face. 

"I didn't say you did." Tom glanced around the library, wondering why he ended up here again this time. If he was supposed to be dreaming of Dorian Gray (although why of all people, he had yet to figure out) they could be somewhere else. Like the Nautilus, for example; at least he would feel a little more at ease there. 

"Do you paint, Tom?" Dorian suddenly asked. Tom snapped his head back to face his host, shook his head and looked at the immortal questioningly. Dorian only smiled. 

"I had a painter friend when I was your age." He paused. There was a faraway look in his eyes, as if remembering something from a long time ago. 

In that split second, Tom Sawyer thought he was looking at a different man. That thoughtful expression had never crossed the face of the real Dorian Gray. Yet, this illusory creation sitting before him had a sensitivity of a poet, noble without the arrogance that came with the package. Tom wondered if this was the Dorian Gray the immortal used to be before his soul began to corrupt. 

It made no sense. Tom had not known anything about the man before the League. Even then, whatever contact he had with him was nothing beyond a taunting pat on the shoulders or an occasional dismissing sneer. 

"Vampires do not dream. Or else we could have Mina here too." Dorian murmured, almost to himself. The American wanted to ask what the other man meant, until he was distracted by something that was significantly missing from the room. 

"Where is your portrait?" 

A true smile spread across Dorian's face. Tom wished the courtier had smiled like that more often. It made him look younger, more approachable…perhaps a little less irritating. He mused. Then again, age could do irreversible things to someone, physically or not. 

Tom thought once again of his dead mentor. 

"You know where it is." Dorian answered cryptically. "It's with you."

"You want it back?" Tom blinked curiously. Perhaps this dream was from the ghost of Dorian, wanting to have his picture back. That would make this entire hocus-pocus bullshit seemed more conceivable. The immortal had been ready to deceive the entire League for that single sheet of canvas. It was perfectly probable for his ghost to want to claim it back, even from his grave. 

The only question was: Would an immortal ever become a ghost?

"You should leave." Dorian said abruptly, an almost livid look was on his face, as if he was truly insulted and mortified by Tom's earnest question. Tom nodded and stood up, bracing himself for the darkness that would soon overwhelm him, just like the way it did when he last dreamt. 

"I'm sorry," Tom hung his head guiltily. A shocked expression spread across Dorian's face. The English seemed rather disturbed by the apology. 

Then again, it might just be his imagination. 

***

Tom woke up once again to the picture of Dorian Gray. He frowned. There was something very wrong with the painting that morning. He got up from his bed, hastily pulled on his boxers and clambered over to the wall. 

The boy squinted his eyes hard; holding his hand out to touch the canvas lightly and then drew back, as if burnt. He stared at his fingers, an alarmed look on his face. 

The paint was fresh. 

End of Chapter 2

Continue to Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 3

**Raison D'être | Chapter 3**

**A LXG Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko**

**Pairing: Dorian + Tom**

**Warning: Slash. Wicked Dreams.**

**Timeline: Post-movie cannon. **

**This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of Alan Moore, Kevin O'Neil, the filmmakers and their associates. **

**A/N: Thanks to inasense and prodigette for the encouragement. I'd jump for joy if the filmmakers will use this plot to bring Dorian back. I'm sure we can do with more slash in the movie. **

**Sorry to Ally for not letting you beta this. You can help me beta it when you watched the movie…[actually, it's because it's ending soon and I don't want to spoil the movie for you.]**

---

_I know you! I walked with you once upon a dream_

_I know you! The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam_

_Yet, I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem_

_But if I know you, I know what you'll do_

_You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream_

_~ONCE UPON A DREAM_

"Mrs Harker! MRS HARKER! Are you awake?! I need your help!" Tom shouted, pounding on the cabin door frantically. 

Outside the rain was pouring, and the waves were violent. It was as if Neptune had taken it upon himself to punish the Nautilus for invading his realm. The lights flickered. 

"Coming!" Mina opened the door with a half-worried, half-annoyed look on her face. She was still dressed in her nightgown; her luscious blonde curls falling over her shoulders wildly. "What's wrong?"

Without hesitation, Tom grabbed her hand and pulled her down the corridors and into his room. He flicked a light switch on and pointed at the painting on the wall. 

The wet paint on Dorian Gray's immortalized face reflected the light and glinted. Beside Tom, Mina shuddered lightly and hissed in anger. She then turned to the American with a look of exasperation on her face. 

"What is it, Tom?" She asked. 

"The picture!" Tom exclaimed. "The paint's fresh! See!" He thrust his stained fingers in her face. 

"Tom," she sighed and spoke very slowly, as though trying to explain something ridiculously simple to a retarded child without losing her patience. "You left the windows open."

Blue eyes widened as Tom turned away from Mina to inspect the far end of his room. He had indeed left his windows open, and a puddle of water was already forming on his floor. 

"But…but…" He sputtered incoherently, blushing furiously in embarrassment. 

"It's only a picture, Tom." Mina whispered sadly. "Only a painting."

"But what if he can return? What if, so long as the painting is not destroyed, he can come back to life again?"

"I hate to say this, Tom, but Dorian is gone." Mina walked out of the room, turning off the lights as she went. 

Tom stared from the open window, to his bed and to the painting. The portrait was facing his bed. If it got wet, why was his bed still dry then?

Also, the American narrowed his eyes and took note of the water on his floor. The rain tracks never reached that far. 

***

"A penny for your thoughts?" Tom looked up from his sausage (mutilated by the constant stabbing with his fork) and offered a weak smile. 

Jekyll tilted his head to one side and regarded Tom with a concerned expression his face. After thinking about it for a while, the scientist pulled out the chair beside Tom and sat down.

"You've changed." Tom realized. At the beginning of the League, Jekyll was a timid doctor who could barely keep his demons in check. He had indeed changed for the better, more confident, more in control. 

They had all changed. 

"And you look terrible." Jekyll retorted. Tom gave a wry grin. He knew. There were dark rings around his eyes, and heavy bags hanging from his lower lids. He was getting thinner too, losing weight faster than he could replace them, the combined result of a horrible appetite and even worse sleeping habits. 

Or the lack of them, in any case. 

Tom had not slept a wink for three days, ever since that stormy morning when he work up to wet paint. The canvas had not dried yet, but Tom dared not mentioned it to Mina. He had made enough of a fool of himself before her, and had no wish of doing so again. 

He was also afraid of what he would dream of if he sleep. 

"I think you need help, young Sawyer." Jekyll got up from the table and put a hand on Tom's shoulders gently. "Come see me in my office when you are done. I'll give you something to help you sleep."

"Poison can do the job." Tom muttered to himself and returned to murdering his lunch. 

***

He should not have gone looking for Jekyll like he was told to. Tom cursed himself and the good doctor repeatedly as he paced around his dream world, Dorian Gray's library, waiting for a certain obnoxious ass to show himself. 

"I wasn't expecting you to come." Tom spun around and caught sight of the man standing at the doorway of the library, soaked wet to his skin. Was it raining outside? 

Duh, it was London. It was either raining, or just rained or about to rain. 

"You haven't been here for a few days. I thought you weren't coming at all." Dorian continued, shrugging out of his wet waistcoat and hanging it up at the corner of the room. 

"Not that I have a choice. I have to sleep, sooner or later, right?" Tom was angry. Whose fault was it that every time he sleeps, he would dream of the immortal? How dare Gray even think he had the choice of not showing up?

"A dream is a wish your heart makes, Tom Sawyer." Dorian smirked. "The usual?" He asked, holding up a clear bottle from his liquor collection. Tom nodded. 

The American took the moment of silence to ponder upon what the other man had said. He definitely had no wish to keep seeing Dorian Gray in his dreams. A dream had all the makings of a nightmare if it contained the immortal. Not that it had ever been particularly scary. Not unless you count the last time when he woke up to find the paint on the portrait as fresh as if it was newly painted. 

"I—"

"Don't ask a thing!" Dorian yelled furiously, slamming the bottle back onto the tabletop. He marched over to where Tom was with wide strides, grabbing the boy by the shoulders and pushing him down onto the leather couch, glaring at him with fury and what could be read as hurt in those eyes. Tom was shocked. This was probably the most variety of emotion he would ever see on the immortal's face. For some reason, it had dissolved the otherwise aloof and distant air around the man. 

For other reasons, it had frightened yet intrigued him to see the man like that. 

"I didn't want you to see you, but you had to turn up, didn't you? You simply had to, butting your nose into any thing and every thing as if it were your birthright to do so!"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Why didn't you want to see me?" 

Dorian took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself. All his anger seemed to have been peeled off after that loud tirade. He was not offended by the question, only contemplating the best way to go about answering it. 

"You have questions," Dorian finally replied. "Questions that I do not wish to answer, or do not have answers for."

"And that is supposed to stop me from asking them?" Tom reclined back onto the couch, making himself comfortable. How quickly the tables turned. Tom had the vague idea that the European was treading on dangerous ground here, exploring a new territory that he had never been to before. 

"You should go," Dorian sighed, picking up his cane and began to walk out of the library. 

"Wait!" Tom got up from the couch and followed the other man a step or two. "Why was the paint on the portrait fresh?"

Dorian stopped in his steps and lowered his head. Without turning back, he answered. 

"You will know what you wake up later. Ask Mina or Jekyll to give you something strong enough to knock you out without dreaming. I had been uncharacteristically kind to you, but don't expect any encore performance." 

Tom looked thoughtfully at the waistcoat hanging from its rack. And then he woke up. 

End of Chapter 3

Continue to Chapter 4


	5. Chapter 4

**Raison D'être | Chapter 4**

**A LXG Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko**

**Pairing: Dorian + Tom**

**Warning: Slash. Angst**

**Timeline: Post-movie cannon. **

**This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of Alan Moore, Kevin O'Neil, the filmmakers and their associates. **

**A/N: This chapter is what I call a transition chapter. It's one of those things you write when you have a burning desire to write smut but you can't just have your characters going 'wham, bam, thank you very much'. You get what I mean…*smirks***

**Smut coming up in the next and final chapter.**

**Many thanks to Vaish for providing that bit of information on Kali, you know I'm just too lazy to research on it myself, and what's better than listening to a local talk about it?**

**---**

Tom woke up and found out that he had slept better than he did in days. Surprising even to himself, he had decided to take up Dorian's advice after all. His portrait was turned to face the wall instead of his bed. The paint might be wet, but it should not dirty the white washed walls. Or at least, Tom sincerely hoped so, because he really could not care less. 

He had also looked up both Mina and Jekyll for help regarding his insomnia. He was glad he had approached Jekyll too, or else he would have downed that animal tranquilizers Mina so cheekily prescribed. Granted, Tom had requested for something strong enough to knock him out dreamless, but he had definitely not expected a side effect like impotency to be part of the package. 

His appetite had not gotten any better though. In replace of sleep, Tom now had to suffer a strange grueling ache in his chest, as if somebody had wrapped his fingers around his heart and squeezed, very tightly. For the first time since he became an agent, he missed home. He wished to have back the carefree days playing along the Mississippi with his best friend, Huck. 

There was a void in his heart that could only be filled by a special someone, and Tom just realized that. 

Dorian's last words to him had been resurfacing in his mind over and over again. What did the immortal mean when he said he had been kind to Tom?

***

Tom watched Mina storm down the corridors in amusement. She was muttering something unprintable under her breath, something directed at, to quote her, "an invisible man stupid enough to get himself a sunburn and make her life generally more busy and miserable". Tom glanced worriedly at the Aloe Vera cream in her hands and shook his head. 

Skinner had better prayed she had not put that little 'extra' into the lotion to make it 'extraordinary'. Normalcy was bliss. 

Tom smiled to himself and turned at the corner, stopping in his steps when he noticed what was at the end of it. 

Captain Nemo was there on his knees before a dark bronze statue of a Hindu goddess with a thousand heads and a thousand pairs of arms, and a necklace of skulls around her neck. The American could not help but shudder. His dead mentor had once mentioned to him something about the captain worshipping death. Could they really trust the captain of that vessel they were on?

As if reading his thought, Nemo turned around to fix him with his beetle-black eyes. Tom flushed nervously. 

"Er…sorry, captain. I'll be off on my way."

"Wait!" Nemo closed the doors to the divine sanctuary and hurried forward. "Did I scare you?"

"Yes! I mean, no!" Tom stammered, paused for a moment and quickly asked the question he had been dying to ask. "Why do you worship death?"

"Death?" The Indian blinked, utterly confused and then glanced back at the closed doors with a laugh. "You mean the goddess Kali. She's not Death. She is the female counterpart of Shiva."

"Who is?" Tom narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

Nemo seemed to think about that question very slowly and very carefully, wondering what would be the best way to go about answering Tom's question. Finally, he sighed. 

"There are many ways to look at Kali. But as to what she really symbolizes…you can call it a woman's wrath. 

Tom nodded thoughtfully. A woman's wrath indeed, he mentally commented. One good example of it would be Mina. The vampire was positively terrifying when she was angry. There were times when a woman should be left alone in her fury, or one would have to pay dearly for it. 

Dorian Gray had paid for it when his life. 

"Do you believe in spirits and afterlife, captain?"

"You mean ghosts, don't you?" Tom nodded again. 

"I do. We have all seen too much of the supernatural not to. But you know what I think?" Nemo paused for a moment. "I think a man can never rest in peace with unfulfilled wishes. He will be doomed to haunt this land, unable to reborn."

"And so he will just…exist?"

"Yes."

***

Tom Sawyer went back into his room, feeling more miserable than he had ever been. He could not help but dwell further on Nemo's words. How horrid it must be, to be unable of reaching Heaven or Hell, condemn to only a mere existence?

Every breath he took, every skip of his heart had hurt indescribably. Was that what Dorian was experiencing? To think he had turned him away just like that…

Tom glanced up at the back of the framed canvas; his vision blurring as hot scalding liquid flowed from behind his eyes and along his cheeks. His tongue darted out to taste it. It was salty. He was crying, giving tears to the man he had once thought deserving of whatever misfortune fate dished out at him. 

Staggering, he made his way to the wall and flipped the painting right side up, forcing himself to stare into the dark brown eyes of the immortal. The eyes that were so expressive when Dorian told him to leave…Tom could have wept for them. He had not wept then, but he was certainly crying now. Was it too late?

Why had Dorian told him to go? Was his presence so much more detestable than lone eternity? 

"I had been uncharacteristically kind to you, but don't expect any encore performance."

Tom gasped. Perhaps, just maybe…

The agent grabbed the bottle of sleeping potion Jekyll had prepared for him and walked to the window with slow deliberate steps. With a sudden burst of energy, he flung it out of the window. 

Tom watched it float and finally drowned in those watery depths. 

Bedtime. 

+++

End of Chapter 4

Continue to Chapter 5


	6. Chapter 5

**Raison D'être | Chapter 5**

**A LXG Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko**

**Pairing: Dorian + Tom**

**Warning: Slash. Angst**

**Timeline: Post-movie cannon. **

**Rating: NC-17 for m/m consensual sex.**

**This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of Alan Moore, Kevin O'Neil, the filmmakers and their associates. **

**A/N: Finally, what you guys have been waiting for…**

**---**

This time around, Tom decided not to wait patiently for Dorian in the library. If he had guessed correctly, they did not have much time. It was paramount that he finds the immortal as soon as possible. 

It was a rare night of rainless, cloudless London. Tom noted with not surprise that the library was empty. He was an unexpected guest anyway. 

Why, let's crash the party again, shall I?

Tom shrugged himself out of that thick black coat he always seemed to be wearing when he entered dreamland and draped it across the couch carelessly. His eyes fell on the bottle of scotch on the table, considered it for a moment before picking it up and walking out of the library, ready to go about his search for Dorian Gray. 

There must have been almost a hundred rooms in the mansion. Tom was feeling desperate after done searching through half of them. He took out his watch, wanting to find out how much time he had left when he realized the timepiece had stopped. 

Tom growled in anger and threw it against a wall furiously. 

"You are going to chip the paint if you keep doing that," a voice drawled from behind. Tom spun around and saw Dorian Gray himself leaning against the side of the door frame, dressed in his usual nearly pressed gray-blue suit and a slightly amused expression on his face. 

Tom frowned. He was sure that he checked out that room just now. Then again, this was a dream world. Nothing should make much sense. 

Dorian raised a hand for silence just when Tom opened his mouth to speak. It was then that the American realized Doran did not have his cane with him. 

"Let's go somewhere more conducive for talking."

Dorian sauntered past him and down a corridor. His stance might seem arrogant, but his eyes had spoken of nothing but resignation. Tom sighed and followed silently, leaving the questions and confessions to later. 

The courtier's idea of comfort had referred to a quaint little balcony that served as a gazebo in the part of the house Tom had not searched. Tom sat down on the bench, set the bottle of liquor down and waited expectantly. Dorian leaned back against the rails and tilted his head upwards to face the night sky. 

"I used to come here and think, while enjoying the sea breeze and the stars. That is, if it's not raining anyway."

"Hm…" Tom nodded slowly. He had no idea how to reply to that, or to start talking about what he had wanted to discuss. Finally, he decided to just say what was on his mind, listen to it and then see if it made sense. 

"Why did you ask me to leave?"

Dorian continued to gaze at the stars, with no outward signal of even hearing what the agent said. After a while, he turned to smile sadly at the boy. 

"I thought you knew. That's why you are here, isn't it?"

"The painting…it was being repainted, right? Somebody else was to be repainted in your place, so that you can return while the scapegoat is trapped in the canvas instead, isn't it? Your scapegoat was me, isn't it?!" Tom demanded. "Then why did you ask me to leave?" 

Dorian's teeth snapped shut with a 'click'. 

"I don't know!" He shouted back harshly, pushing himself off the railings, marching angrily to where Tom was and hauled the agent up on his feet. "Why not you answer MY questions instead? Why didn't you stay away when I specifically told you to do so? Why do you continuously try to tempt me with your presence, knowing that whether I'm dead or alive it does not make a difference because I still can't have you?!"

Tom was not paying much attention to Dorian's words, drawn instead to the dark brown eyes that flashed with an untamed spirit as the other man speaks. They were standing face-to-face; so close that Tom could feel Dorian's warm breath on his neck. 

A sudden wave of impulsivity overwhelmed him. All his sense could register was himself muttering a 'I'll show you why!' before grabbing the immortal's head and crushing their mouths together. 

The first kiss was fire, and it was burning them up inside. Adrenaline, hormones and days of pent-up emotional wreckage overflowed their damns, drowning the two men with their unbelievable force. 

Tongues wrestled each other for control as the two men mercilessly attacked each other's mouths, determined to explore thoroughly and stretched this moment of passion and intimacy out for as long as possible. Then they had to break apart when the lack of oxygen forced them to do so. 

Tom stared at Dorian with a hazy-eyed expression of shock on his face. He flanked down at his hands that were clutching tightly on Dorian's shirt collar, crumbling it. 

He let go immediately. 

"Oh God, what did I just do? What did I just do? I didn't do that. I didn't just kiss Dorian Gray, regardless of how gorgeous he is or how much I fancy him. Oh shit, I didn't just say that out loud. I didn't do it…I didn't…"

Dorian leaned back on his heels, one eyebrow raised as he watched Tom twist himself into frenzy, trying to deny his moment of insanity. Around a couple of minutes later, Tom snapped his head up with a hopeful cheer on his face. 

"What did I just do?" The American asked. 

"Oh, I don't know." Dorian chuckled, gathering the boy in his arms once more. "But I think it's something like this." And he lowered his head slightly for their lips to meet once more. 

The second kiss was paradise. There was passion and there was still lust. But most importantly, there were love and tenderness reserved only for private moments such as this. Private moments that might never come again for them. 

As if realizing the finality of the relationship that had barely even started, their kisses grew frantic. Dorian shrugged himself out of his coat and, for the first time, not caring if it was dirtied and simply let it fall to the ground. Skilled fingers quickly unbuttoned Tom's white shirt and pushed it pas the shoulder. Dorian's kisses rained upon every inch of bare skin revealed like a squall, nibbling lightly from the lips to the jaw line, down along the collarbone and finally latching itself onto one dark pink nipple. 

Tom gasped and arched back in pleasure. Eyelids fluttered close drunkenly, as the American moaned in pleasure while Dorian teased, licked and bit on his nipples. 

The older man carefully maneuvered them onto the ground, into a more comfortable position. Finally, when he had gotten them where he wanted, Dorian grinned and straddled the boy. 

Tom watched with lustful fascination at the Englishman leisurely but efficiently stripped himself down, humming a tune under his breath. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat when Tom swallowed. Dorian had removed his pants and under shorts, sitting before him proud, naked and very aroused.

"Like what you see?" Dorian asked cheekily as Tom blushed and raised his hands slightly. 

"May…may I touch it?" Tom asked hesitantly, referring to Dorian's thick erect manhood. The European smiled and whispered 'later'. 

Dorian slid down and knelt between Tom's slightly open legs. Tom held his breath, wondering what the other man was about to do and then groaned in wanton delight. Dorian had suddenly leaned forward and pressed his tongue flat against the cloth barrier covering Tom's member. 

This was too much. Tom wanted to yell, feeling the warm, wet tongue playing with his cock through the obstructive cloth. The boy reached down, wanting to unzip his pants but was held still by the wrists. 

"Uh-uh." Dorian teased. "I'll do it. Just sit back…" he unbuckled Tom's belt and slipped both pants and briefs down to the ankles. "Relax…" Dorian leered at the now exposed flesh and leaned forward. "And enjoy the ride," he whispered before deep-throating his lover. 

Tom would have felt vulnerable with his legs trapped by the restraints around his ankles, had Dorian not been doing such a bloody good job at distracting him. 

The boy nearly buck the other man off him, but the firm hands on his hips told him otherwise. Dorian continued to suck fervently at his cock, still humming that darn tune in his throat, making that strange but not unpleasant sensation shot from his groin straight through his entire being. Tom came with a scream. 

Tom slumped boneless onto the floor as Dorian released his flaccid penis with a smile. The American frowned. 

"But you have not…" Dorian hushed him with a kiss. 

"I'm not done wit you yet." The immortal muttered between kisses, one head cupping Tom's face possessively while the other roamed down to coax the member into hardness again. Tom groaned in pleasure. 

Dorian broke off from the kiss and stared down worriedly into Tom's wide blue eyes. "This your first time?" Tom blushed and looked away. 

"Answer me, Tom." Dorian buried his face into the crook of Tom's head, alternating between biting and sucking on the soft skin there. 

Tom nodded. 

Dorian smiled and pushed himself up to a kneeling position. He ran two fingers gently across Tom's soft supple lips. "Suck," he winked and almost sighed happily when Tom obeyed without question. 

After a while, Dorian pulled his fingers out and placed them close to Tom's puckered entrance. 

"This is going to hurt a bit." Dorian warned and pushed a finger in. "Trust me and just relax." 

"The five most dangerous words in the English language." Tom murmured to himself. 

To his credit, Tom did try his best to relax, trusting the other man to know what they were doing. A second finger entered, scissoring and stretching his hole. 

"Oh fuck!" Tom yelled, when a whiter-hot sensation explored behind his eyes. "What was that?"

"What?" Dorian feigned innocent and carelessly brushed his fingertips across that sweet spot again. Another shattering wave of pleasure. 

Tom whimpered when the fingers withdrew. But only froze in shock when Dorian lifted his legs and placed them on his shoulders. Something blunt brushed against his entrance. 

"One last chance to say 'no', Tom. What do you want?"

"Please…just…FUCK ME!" 

Dorian chuckled. "Gladly." And entered the boy with one swift thrust, hitting his prostate most accurately. 

Men no more. They were reduced to mere beasts, giving in to their most primal instincts, reducing to nothing but a mixture of heart, passion and pleasure. 

Dorian withdrew and plunged back in mercilessly, enjoying how Tom's virgin hole enveloped him tightly with their blinding heat. Finally, he came, closing his eyes as he released his load. 

Tom came soon after. But he insisted on keeping his eyes wide open. The expression on Dorian's face when he came was priceless. He looked…peaceful. 

Dorian collapsed onto Tom, still breathing heavily from their activity. Instinctively, Tom wrapped his arms around the immortal and held him close, both of them relaxing in the moonlight bath and the intoxicating beating of their hearts in unison. 

They remained like this for a long time.

"Dorian, I lo-"

"Don't say it," the immortal barked fiercely. 

"But I—"

"I told you don't," and he silenced his lover with a kiss. 

Tom did not notice the other man reaching for his pants and pulling out something from the pocket. He did not notice the tears that were running down both their cheeks when they kissed, knowing that this was never meant to be. He did not notice anything until Dorian took Tom's hands and wrapped them around a metal handle. 

"I love you," Dorian promised and plunged the dagger into his chest. Tom stared in shock and disbelief. His hands were still around the hilt of the dagger when paint, instead of blood, gushed out of the gaping wound on Dorian's naked bosom. 

The paint evaporated, into shimmering white crystals that decorated the night air like stars. Dorian Gray was dust. 

***

Epilogue 

The sun shone down at the four men and a woman standing at the port, watching one another in silence. A vast difference from the London weather; the sun in American knew when to shine in summer. 

Mina placed a comforting hand on Tom's shoulders. The boy's blue eyes were blood shot from constant crying. His hands gripped on tightly to a brown package. They all knew it was just an empty canvas under the wrapping paper, but Tom did not care. It was the last thing he had left of his lover. 

"Are you sure about this?" Skinner asked. Tom offered a weak smile and turned around, leaving whatever that was remaining of the League at the port, walking back to his life in the States. 

Never looking back. 

***

**End of Raison D'être**


End file.
